Checkmate
by mrfixij
Summary: Craston "Rat" Sanchez is a new shadowrunner who finds himself in the middle of a run gone bad. Firefly, a celebrity hacker among shadowrunners is dead and Rat made it out unscathed. Now he has to keep his friends safe while attempting to discover who set up his run to fail.


_I've got to tell my story. The shadows are getting crazy. Some of the best people I've met in the shadows are disappearing or worse. People like Fastjack, or Dodger, who could hack circles around the best cyber security system, nowhere to be found. They either vanished into the shadows or took a troll's fist to the head and woke up with a bomb in their skull, blackmailed to work for one of the faceless megacorps. If I don't start writing now, I might never have the chance._

_This is how this all came to be: the shadows, the sixth world as we know it - absolute truth from a man far too old to be doing this anymore. I can't promise you a full account. But I promise the best I can give you._

_2020. The year all hell broke loose. The Awakening. There'd been rumors about an awakening years prior in Japan - people with strange anatomy, pointed ears or stunted growth. The nets wrote it all off as a new fashion trend stemming from breakthroughs in cosmetic surgery. Only in Japan they said. _

_Well, that drek was about as true as a chip head's trip._

_I was 18 on New Year 's Eve, at the very end of 2019. My parents had managed to scrounge together the money to take all of us on vacation to Times Square to see the ball drop in person. The night happened to coincide with a meteor shower, right before midnight. Scientists had predicted it months in advance and there was tons of excitement. Tickets to any major city were so expensive; I don't know how my mother could afford them._

_So there we were, mother, father, sister and me, waiting for midnight, awestruck by the festivities and hype for that night. As the ball started to drop, the meteor shower began, bright lights streaking across the New York sky. Despite the neon and electrical lights all around, the shower was plainly visible. _

_And then it happened. The ground started to shake. I fell over right away, skinny brat I was. It felt like the very earth was being torn in two. The tower holding the New Year's ball made the most awful screeching noise I'd ever heard. The metal began to buckle and twist, the girders broke loose from each other. And then it was gone, swallowed up by a fresh hole in the ground._  
_Out of the hole came flyin' this big ol' Great Western Gold Drake. That was Lofwyr, the first dragon any of us had seen before. Mind you, this wasn't first contact. Dunkelzahn had shown himself years ago in China, but the Chinese government did a good job of keeping that locked down tight. Lofwyr put on a big show for his emergence, big Western Gold Drake like that, breathing fire everywhere and screaming nonsense in every language possible. Looking back, it was fraggin' hilarious._

_At the time, the only word to describe the scene was chaos. Most of the NYPD officers ran away like the rest of us. The dumb ones pulled guns on Lofwyr. Can you believe it? They pulled their pea shooters on a Great Western Gold! Lofwyr fried them in a second, which only made things worse. _

_And then the Awakening. In the week after New Year's, 1/10 of the adult population of the United States started changin'. Now a'days you'd call what we saw metahumans. Back then they were freaks. The only people who'd seen anything like it had watched the Japanese hoax videos. The government quickly set up quarantine. They thought it was a disease, maybe contagious. They thought they could contain it. And then president Johnson started shrinking. The TV wouldn't show it; they'd put boxes under his podium, claim that his face was widening due to allergies or stress eating or something. But we all saw it. President Johnson probably shrank a full foot in two weeks. _

_The president was awakening into a dwarf. Imagine how Humanis would have felt it they were around then. The head of the most powerful nation winds up being an awakened dwarf! One of those slottin' racists would have blown a gasket._

_Drek! Someone's coming. More later._

_~Firefly_

It had been two weeks since the temperature control broke. Two long, sweltering weeks in the middle of a Seattle summer heat wave. Aztechnology negotiators were struggling to come to an agreement with any repair service that would agree to work within their tiny budget for the summer quarter. In the meantime the companymen suffered the heat. Dress code was beginning to slip as women came to work in dresses instead of slacks and men shed their suit jackets and unbuttoned their shirts to catch any breeze available.  
Still, a small handful of workers would brave the heat and take their break in the garden courtyard. Despite being eight degrees centigrade hotter than the inside, the garden was the only place to offer a change of scenery from the sterile white with occasional green and red stripes that lined the AZT office. Companymen sat at metal tables in the courtyard, surrounded by the well maintained topiary and landscaping. Some sat with the vacant stare associated with the sensory overload of full immersion in the net, "cold sim" as most termed it. Others placed meals in plastic containers on their table and took a moment to eat.

In the far corner of the courtyard sat a particularly short and stocky man, still in perfect company attire despite the heat. He pulled a mesh glove from the briefcase seated next to him and slipped it on his right hand, then pressed a button on the back of it which caused the glove to illuminate in a dim blue glow. "Davis, Samuel. Assistant logistics director. Set PAN hidden." He spoke softly. The transparent overlay on his glasses dimmed slightly, and red text appeared in the corner flashing "Hidden." With his Personal Area Network in hidden mode, he would not be bothered by any unwanted communication. Only on breaks were employees permitted the privacy of changing their network settings from "Open."

He reached over his shoulder and brushed his fingers over the chrome jack resting between his shoulder blades. It had been seven years since he'd had the datajack installed. It was corporate policy that all hires must have a datajack for professionalism, since the mesh AR glove Sam wore had fallen out of fashion and was now considered impractical. Sam preferred to use the glove as often as he could because the neural implant gave him headaches from extended use. Sam traced the wire from the datajack to the commlink headset over his ears. With a single motion, he pulled the wire from the datajack and inserted it in his glove and felt his body instantly relax.

Sam sat back in his chair and pulled a can of SoyKaf from his briefcase. He idly read the bright lettering on the can, "TASTES LIKE REAL COFFEE!" Sam shook his head and chuckled for a moment. "As if anyone knows what coffee tastes like anymore." He took a drink from the can and smiled as the bittersweet taste splashed onto his tongue.

Sam scanned the local Aztechnology news, checked his stock portfolios for the gains and losses of the day, and then swiped his gloved hand to close that section of the overlay, then snapped his fingers to open the text message overlay. He asked "Where are you?" into his commlink and then tapped an imaginary spot in front of him to send the message.

The Augmented Reality overlay in front of his eyes flashed a dull orange, and Sam swiped his hand to open the new text message.  
_Message recipient "Craston" unknown. Account inactive._

"Seriously, Craston?" Sam said out loud. "Is it that hard to keep your link bill paid?" He deleted the service message from his inbox out of habit.

Another orange flash came across the AR overlay._ I'm almost there. Had to dodge the local Lone Star._ The bottom of the message was signed with a dancing rat. Sam's eyes widened. Not only was it peculiar that Craston had responded despite his account being closed, but Lone Star was a more pressing matter.

Lone Star was the private police force of most of the Seattle area. To those seeking unconditional justice, Lone Star was a word to be spat with seething tone. To everyone else, they were accepted as a slightly corrupt but essential part of everyday life and peacekeeping. Craston having trouble with Lone Star could mean many things, but none of them were good as far as Sam was concerned.

Sam pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his brow. He then returned to the main screen of his inbox to delete the message. Much to his surprise, the message was nowhere to be found. Sam returned the handkerchief to his pocket just as the door to the interior slid open.

A tall, lanky man wearing navy blue coveralls and carrying a large backpack strode through the door. His hair flowed behind him in long, dark red dyed dreadlocks. Anyone looking at him through their AR display would see a long, animated rat's tail trailing behind him. This kind of AR prestidigitation was taboo to any AZT employee, and he drew a stare from several of the other men in the courtyard.  
The dreadlocked man strode to Sam's table, slung his pack on the ground, and then sat down opposite Sam, leaving the virtual rat's tail to slump over the seat.. His eyes were bright with familiarity and friendliness, despite the cold, rehearsed expression on his face.  
Sam allowed himself to relax. Craston was a childhood friend who would not judge him by the same standards as his professional peers. A smile lit up Sam's face as he said "Craston, how's things? Sorry I had to cancel last week, this promotion has me chugging SoyKaf instead of sleeping."

Craston grimaced at the sound of his name, his eyes losing their sparkle and defaulting to a steely stare. He raised a finger at Sam, indicating that he should wait a moment, and bent down to open his pack, muttering under his breath. Craston emerged from under the table carrying a folding wooden chess board. "A game?"

Sam nodded his head. As Craston began to set up the chess board, Sam's overlay flashed orange. This was the second time he'd received a text while he was in hidden mode today. He made a note to have his firewall checked as he swiped open the text message.  
_I won't tell you again, the name is Rat. I wouldn't have been able to make it last week either. Occupational hazard._

Sam shook his head. Craston had grown more secretive at each of their weekly games. It had been months since Craston had uttered a conversational word to Sam. The only thing Craston would say out loud was pertaining to their weekly chess game. Serious topics Craston would discuss through text, and with as vague responses and extensive security as possible. Sam assumed the self-deleting messages were a new trick Craston had learned.

More worrisome than Craston's desire for secrecy and self-referential name change was his saying "occupational hazard." Sam's mind raced with possibilities of what he could mean, and nothing seemed to make sense. Sam cautiously asked "What do you mean, occupational hazard? I thought you were working at the Stuffer Shack."

Rat made no indication of having heard sam's question, instead setting the last piece on the board and asking "White or black?"

Sam said "White, and seriously, what do you mean? This doesn't have anything to do with running into Lone Star today, does it?"  
Craston turned the board and moved his first piece, again pretending to ignore Sam's probing. He stared at the nearly untouched board intently, as if studying, and began to mutter under his breath.

Sam's AR overlay flashed orange, and before he could react, the message opened automatically.

_Stuffer Shack is my day job. I've picked up some extra night work. Ghost set me up._

Sam closed the message, which promptly deleted itself, and moved a white piece on the chess board. "Oh? So you're too good to work with AZT but you pick up another job? Relax, I'm joking. What kind of work? Also, what's with the messaging tricks?"

Rat continued to mutter while Sam was talking, and a moment later Sam received a text from Rat. _Dangerous drek. You don't want to know about it. Have you heard from Ghost lately? She's been missing since she got me this job._

"You mean Sally? She's been taking it easy since her sister awakened. Her poor sister is just 13 and she's becoming an elf. Can you imagine it? I mean, better an elf than a troll I guess, but I would have never thought that she had elf blood in her. Some places don't even hire elves still. It's so backwards. Aztechnology isn't like that though, we're progressive. We even hire trolls for warehouses and security."

Rat's face remained cold. His shoulders tensed and his legs trembled slightly in nervousness. He bounced his head back and forth as he looked at the developing board. _Her sister isn't awakening. She's going through Kyuse. It's not vulgar, it's beautiful. Now have you heard from Ghost?_

"I really hate that word, you know that? Besides, if one of the execs here heard me say it, I'd have no chance of ever getting a promotion."

_I guess they're not so progressive after all?_

"Slot off Craston, this is my job, not your ideals and games." Said Sam.

_I need to know about Ghost. Is she ok?_

"I talked to her two or three days ago. She tipped me off a few hours before Artisan stock crashed. That tip saved me so many creds. I can even buy you lunch next week if you show up on time."

_I'll pass. You haven't heard from her since?_

"Well, she declined a dinner offer after the stock crashed. It was supposed to be a thank you, nothing more." Sam said. "Maybe a bottle of soy wine and a long taxi ride too, but she wouldn't have any of it." He laughed dryly.

Rat sighed. That meant she was likely alive. His legs stilled, and his body relaxed. He looked at the time in AR, and knew that this meeting couldn't last much longer. He had to find Ghost, and figure out what had gone wrong. Recklessly spreading information about the Artisan crash was not only insider trading, but could have made Rat's life worse than it already was._ Thanks._

For what seemed an eternity, the two sat in silence. Sam was taken aback by Rat's uncharacteristic insistence and straightforwardness. Rat had other things on his mind, and began to play sloppy, ill-thought out moves on the chess board.

Sam finally broke the silence between them. "Why is it that you are so against working for Aztechnology? We're probably the best AAA corp to our employees. Housing for everyone with an office or managerial position, long breaks, everything anyone could ask for. I even go to the gym from time to time, can you tell?" Sam flexed his arm, showing a hint of muscle through his shirt. "I can put you somewhere that you'll be helpful, or maybe even have you work for Beret's landscaping subcontractor, if you don't want to work for Aztech. You need a real job, time to grow up Craston."

Rat's face turned to anger. His subvocal muttering was faster than before, and for the first time since he'd arrived sweat started to bead on his forehead. _You know Beret? Stay away from him. Don't talk with him. Stay away, I mean it._

As Sam read the message, his face contorted in confusion. "Look, I'm just trying to help. I know it's not easy, but I can get you a job. Where else are you going to go with your…" Sam glanced around the courtyard to see if anyone was in earshot, and then whispered, "Criminal System Identity Number."

Rat flew to his feet, flipping the table in the process. Sam was showered in chess pieces. For an infinitesimal moment it looked as if Ratwas going to hit Sam. Instead, he gritted his teeth and touched both thumbs to forefinger and focused.

Sam reflexively closed his eyes as the table flipped. When he reopened them, Rat was nowhere to be found. "Sure, just go disappearing!" He called at the empty air. The other workers in the courtyard either did not hear Sam's outburst, or did not care.  
Sam stood up and straightened his tie. He took one last drink of SoyKaf and then threw away the empty can. He prepared himself mentally for the torrent of information that would enter his brain, and then transferred his commlink line from the AR glove to his datajack between his shoulders. Immediately, Sam's body tensed and a slight stinging sensation shot through his body, then dulled. "Davis, Sam. Reporting back to work. Set PAN to open." Immediately his AR overlay was flooded with advertisements, text messages, bank statements, and personalized notifications. Sam deftly sorted the content by relevance, and closed what was not useful in seconds.

He walked into the office building, leaving the overturned table and spilled chess pieces behind. His overlay flashed orange once more, and a message appeared without prompting. The message was headed by a bloody rat.

_Never mention that again. Remember that famous hacker, Firefly? I saw him die this week, and I think Beret is responsible. Stay. Away. From. Him._


End file.
